


a fool's errand and an asshole's research project

by DarknessChill



Series: Bilingual People With Knives and Emotional Problems [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:29:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarknessChill/pseuds/DarknessChill
Summary: "So, why are you here, if you know Malik does not want to see you?"Altaïr knows he can't make up for what he's done, but when his paperwork (punishment) leads him to a sickening conclusion, he has to swallow his pride and ask for help.





	a fool's errand and an asshole's research project

Altaïr isn't sure why he's here, staring at the door to the home Sima Al Sayf shares with her two— _o_ _ne_. With her _one_ grandson.

He almost turns around. What is he thinking, coming to talk to Sima knowing he's the _reason_ she only has one grandson left.

No. He needs to do this. He steels himself, takes a deep breath, and goes to knock when the door swings open and Sima shoots him an unamused look and speaks in stern Arabic. "Don't just stand there," she urges him. "Either come in or go home, but make up your mind."

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving the door open. Before Altaïr can convince himself that this is a terrible idea, he walks in and shuts the door behind himself, standing awkwardly in the living room.

"Malik is not here," Sima says, crossing back over to the kitchen to continue what she'd been cooking. "Though I am certain he does not want to see you."

Altaïr flinches, reaching for the Arabic he hasn't used much since his father died. "I know, I - understand."

"I'm not sure I want to see you either," Sima says simply. "But do you know why I invited you in instead of leaving you standing at the door?" she looks up at him.

Altaïr startles and shakes his head.

"Your father saved my boys' lives when we came here," she answers. "Malik and Kadar both would have been shipped straight back to Syria if not for him. He stepped up, he vouched for us despite having barely met me. He helped us become legal here."

Altaïr hasn't heard this story before - he knows that his father met Sima when Kadar was only a baby, shortly after they'd arrived in America, but he'd never known there had been a chance of them being sent _back._ He swallows.

"So, yes, I am angry. I am upset. I have lost one of the most precious people in my life and no one will tell me the truth of how or why, least of all my grandson, but I know it is your fault."

"I... I'm sorry," Altaïr says, unsure of what else he _can_ say. It means nothing, coming from him, there's nothing he can actually do and the words seem pathetic when faced with what happened. ( _I'm so sorry, Mrs. Al Sayf, I'll never get one of your grandchildren killed again, I swear it,_ like he'd stolen a cookie after dinner or snuck out past curfew - it doesn't work, and Altaïr feels dumb for having even tried it.)

"Do not apologize to me, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad," she somehow snaps without raising her voice at all. "There are greater forces you must answer to than an old woman."

Altaïr swallows around the lump in his throat and shifts slightly.

"So, why are you here, if you know Malik does not want to see you?" Sima asks him.

"I need to talk to him, and I..." Altaïr cuts himself off, trying to think of the best way to go about this. ( _I'm sorry I got your grandson killed, Mrs. Al Sayf, but could you do me a favor anyway?_ Idiot.) "I was hoping you might be able to convince him to speak to me."

Sima lets out a snorted laugh. "You are more of a fool than I thought if you think I can convince my grandson to do anything."

Altaïr flinches again.

"You have taken something precious from him, something you cannot replace or make up for," Sima says, turning to pull a rack out of the oven and replace it with a new one, the unmistakable small of baklava filling the air.

Altaïr stays still, unsure of what, if anything, he can say or do right now. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all, coming here. He should just --

"Altaïr." He looks up to see Sima, unruffled, staring him down as she drizzles syrup over the hot baklava. "Something has changed with you, hasn't it?"

He startles, hesitates, and Sima is quiet for a moment as she stares him down, not breaking eye contact even as she sets the syrup aside.

Finally, she speaks. "He's been spending his days at the library. He doesn't think I know, but he should know better than to pretend he can hide from me. Try there, tomorrow. He will be leaving soon and you need to get this in the fridge."

Altaïr frowns, confused, until Sima crosses to the fridge, pulls out a container, and hands it to him sharply.

"Do not microwave this. Oven, 375 degrees, 25 minutes. Understood?"

He hurriedly nods.

"Good," Sima nods back. "You need to eat more, you're just like your father. Go try to speak with Malik tomorrow."

It's as much of a dismissal as anyone gets from Sima Al Sayf, so Altaïr steps back towards the door, bewildered. "Thank you," he manages.

"There is nothing you can do to fix this," Sima warns him. "But maybe you can move past it."

With that, a plastic container of food, and a lot to think about, Altaïr leaves.

*

Altaïr gathers every piece of paperwork he's found with even a shred of evidence on it, packs it all into a folder, prints out the summary and report he hasn't sent into Giovanni, and goes to the library bright and early the next morning. He doesn't go inside, just sits on the front steps near where kids hang out sometimes after school, and double and triple checks his own numbers while waiting for Malik to show up - while _hoping_ that Malik will show up.

And show up he does, about a half hour later, looking exhausted and far more bedraggled than Altaïr had been expecting. He's holding what's left of his bad arm close to himself, as if he can hide it somehow, and he doesn't notice Altaïr until he's halfway up the library steps.

When he sees him, though, it's immediately clear by the way every muscle in his body just stops. " _No._ " he says simply, turning back around.

"Malik, hold on," Altaïr says, scrambling up.

"I said I never wanted to see you again, so what gives you the right to just _show up_ here?" Malik snaps, whirling back around on him.

"I'm sorry," Altaïr swallows.

"Save your apologies - do you think they _mean anything_? You might have Giovanni fooled, but you are never going to fool me again. So fuck off and get lost." Shoving his own hand into his pocket, Malik starts to walk away again.

" _Wait_ , Malik." Altaïr hurried after him.

"Wait for _what_ , Altaïr?" Malik snaps at him. "For you to get someone else killed? I don't have another brother for you to murder. Do you want to chop off my other arm yourself, is that it?"

Altaïr falters, and then steels himself. "No, I - I need your help."

Malik laughs humorlessly. "Oh, this is priceless. Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad needs _my_ help. Where the hell was this six months ago?"

"Just _look_ at this, okay?" Altaïr holds out the folder. "Giovanni had me digging through it and it... I need to know that it adds up to what I think it does. I can't bring it up to the others until I'm sure - they don't trust me."

"And you think _I_ do?" Malik asks incredulously.

"No, I know that you don't." Altaïr's hand tightens marginally on the folder. "That's why I want _you_ to check it over. I know you won't hesitate to call me out if I'm wrong, and you're the best person I know at this kind of thing." _You're the best person I know._

Malik looks at the folder he's been offered but doesn't say anything.

"If I'm right, Malik, this is huge," Altaïr says. "Please."

After another moment's pause in which Altaïr starts to think Malik's going to walk away anyway, he reaches out and takes it. "I haven't been cleared to do anything, you know."

"Don't give yourself a papercut, then." Altaïr suggests. Malik levels a glare at him, and he takes a step back. "Thank you, Malik," he says sincerely, before turning and leaving him alone.

*

It takes Malik two days to look at the papers after he opens them the first time and sees the name of the company where Kadar had died. Altaïr, the asshole, hadn't mentioned the files pertained to _that job_ and Malik is two seconds away from shredding them out of spite when his curiosity finally gets the better of him and he opens them again.

What feels like five minutes later, he looks up and realizes it's somehow become pitch black outside. A glance at the clock proves it's the late at night and he's been reading for hours.

Groaning and rubbing at his eyes, Malik trudges towards the door, reaching for it and - no. Other arm. Swallowing the surge of anger that rises every time he goes to do something with an arm that's no longer there, he yanks the door open with his good – only – arm and heads into the kitchen to get something to eat and think over what he'd just read.

Altaïr's not wrong. He wishes that was the worst part, but even Malik can't call the asshole being right worse than what's actually going on. How no one caught it, he's not sure, because now that it's been pointed out to him, it's so obvious. Montferrat Enterprises is using _slave labor_ and somehow, no one's noticed. On the surface, all of their numbers look right. But looking at what the company reports the higher management's salary to be compared to the finance reports they'd managed to get out of the company when they'd broken in six months ago, the numbers don't add up.

And not only that, they do business with a group that Malik's never heard of - and Altaïr had included pages and pages of shady business information about them as well that he'd dug up somewhere. The asshole's done his research properly for once and it's lead straight to a human trafficking ring. No wonder he'd wanted for someone else to look at it - this _is_ big.

He has no idea if Altaïr plans to try and appeal to work this job when they get it sorted out - getting the proof necessary or whatever they end up deciding to do. He doesn't expect that Altaïr will be allowed to even if he does ask.

Malik won't. Lucy had cleared him for most to all activities, but his last conversation with Giovanni about going back to field work had ended with him being told that "maybe you should rest some more" and something about not being _emotionally_ prepared. (Lucy had suggested that maybe he should try anger management and gave him the number for her kickboxing class. Considering how little Lucy enjoyed any of the Order's company, that would have been an honor had he not been so, well. Angry.)

His eyes trail over to the picture of Kadar that his grandmother had moved over to the counter in the kitchen, and he just stands there for a moment.

As angry as he is, as much as he never wants to work with Altaïr again, to _see_ Altaïr again, he needs to follow this through. Kadar had died for the information that had lead to finding this, and Malik needs to finish it for him. For Kadar and for himself. He can't do anything about the _man_ that lead to Kadar's death, but maybe he can do something about the company.

He grabs his cell phone, finding Altaïr's number in his contact's list - name changed to a few expletives but not deleted for some reason - and sends a short message.

_Library. Tomorrow at 9am. I'm not waiting for you if you don't show up._

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, as you may have noticed, because it is part of a large AU I am working on with [beeawolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beeawolf/pseuds/beeawolf)! This AU is set in the modern day in an unnamed US city and there exists an organization that is sort of like the assassins but very much not them. Altaïr and Malik are both part of this organization, which is run by Giovanni Auditore.
> 
> That said, not much else from the AU's universe really applies here, but if you're interested in more, beeawolf has written some excellent additions to the AU that can be found in the series. I'm putting this as complete for now but there is more to Altaïr and Malik's story that I might write eventually? So, we'll see what happens.


End file.
